The engagement party was being held in the Hartmann family's private ballroom on the top floor of the Hartmann Tower—because of course it was. Fifty stories above Frankfurt's glittering night skyline, glass walls on three sides, city lights sprawling below like scattered diamonds someone had kicked over in a fit of boredom. The kind of venue that screamed old money trying very hard not to look like it was trying.
I stood in front of the full-length mirror in the dressing room they'd assigned me, tugging at the collar of the midnight-blue tuxedo someone had laid out. It fit perfectly. Too perfectly. Tailored to this body down to the millimeter, as if they'd measured me while I was unconscious. The fabric was cool against my skin, but it did nothing to dull the low simmer that had started the moment Darius left the bedroom earlier.
I rolled my shoulders, watched the reflection do the same. Silver hair caught the light, falling just past my collarbones now that I'd refused the stylist's offer to pin it up. Golden eyes stared back—still startled, but the shock was fading. Replaced by something colder. More familiar.
I wasn't going to play the blushing, grateful omega tonight. I wasn't going to play anything. I was going to survive the evening, smile when required, and start mapping my exit the second the champagne stopped flowing.
A soft knock. The door opened before I answered.
It was a beta assistant—mid-twenties, clipboard in hand, nervous energy radiating off her like heat from asphalt in summer. "Herr Laurent? They're ready for you downstairs. Herr Hartmann asked that you join him at the entrance in five minutes."
"Herr Hartmann," I echoed, dry. "Which one?"
She blinked. "The… elder? No—Darius. The CEO."
Of course. The elder Hartmann would be the one signing the checks, not the one who'd just threatened me with his thumb on my gland.
I gave her a small, sharp smile. "Lead the way."
The elevator ride down was silent except for the soft chime of floor numbers ticking past. When the doors opened, the murmur of several hundred voices hit me like a wave. Crystal clinking, low laughter, the rustle of silk and wool. Perfume, cologne, and the unmistakable undercurrent of alpha and omega pheromones layered over everything like expensive smoke.
Darius waited just outside the grand double doors. Arms folded, expression unreadable. The tuxedo on him looked like it had been born wearing one—black, crisp, single silver cufflink catching the light. He didn't turn fully when I approached, just shifted his gaze sideways.
"You clean up," he said. No inflection. Not a compliment. Not an insult. Observation.
"You sound surprised," I replied, stepping beside him. Close enough that our shoulders almost brushed. Close enough that his scent wrapped around me again—dark amber, smoke, that feral edge sharper now in a room full of people.
"I'm not." He offered his arm. Not gently. Expectantly.
I looked at it for a beat, then placed my hand on his forearm instead of looping through it. A small distinction. Enough to remind him this wasn't surrender.
His jaw tightened, but he said nothing. The doors opened.
Cameras flashed the second we crossed the threshold. Not paparazzi—family-approved photographers, discreet, expensive. Guests turned. Conversations dipped. Eyes tracked us like hawks watching a single mouse cross an open field.
I kept my chin up, expression pleasant but distant. Let them look. Let them whisper. I'd read enough of the original novel to know half these people had already written me off as a gold-digging inconvenience. The other half were probably placing bets on how long I'd last before Darius discarded me.
We stopped at the center of the raised dais. A string quartet shifted into something slower, more intimate. Darius turned to face me fully now, one hand sliding to the small of my back—firm, possessive, impossible to ignore.
"For appearances," he murmured, lips barely moving.
"For appearances," I echoed, voice just as low. "How noble."
His fingers flexed against the fabric of my jacket. Not painful. Just present. A reminder.
The elder Hartmann—silver-haired, hawkish, every inch the patriarch—stepped forward with a glass raised. The room quieted instantly.
"Ladies and gentlemen," he began, voice carrying without effort. "Tonight we celebrate not only the union of two great families, but the future of Hartmann Enterprises. My son Darius and the esteemed Lucian Laurent—"
He paused for polite applause. I felt Darius's hand tighten fractionally at my back.
"—a partnership built on strength, legacy, and mutual respect."
More applause. A few knowing smiles from the older alphas near the front. I kept my face neutral.
When the speech ended, Darius leaned in, breath brushing my ear. "Smile."
I turned my head just enough that our faces were inches apart. "I am smiling."
It wasn't a lie. My lips were curved. The expression just didn't reach my eyes.
He studied me for a long second. Then, without warning, he lifted my hand—the one not resting on his arm—and pressed a kiss to the inside of my wrist. Light. Deliberate. Right over the pulse point.
The room sighed. Cameras clicked faster.
My pulse jumped under his mouth. I hated that he felt it. Hated more that part of me didn't hate it at all.
He released my hand slowly. "You're shaking," he said, too quiet for anyone else to hear.
"Adrenaline," I answered, matching his volume. "Not fear."
A ghost of something—amusement? challenge?—crossed his face. "We'll see."
The music swelled again. Guests drifted closer, offering congratulations, probing questions wrapped in silk. I answered smoothly, deflecting, redirecting. Darius stayed beside me the entire time, hand never straying far from my back or my waist. Guiding. Claiming. Marking territory without a single word.
An hour in, my suppressants were starting to wear thin. A faint heat prickled under my skin—not full onset, just the warning. Enough to make every brush of his fingers feel electric.
I excused myself to the balcony for air.
The night wind off the Main was cold, sharp. I leaned against the railing, breathing deep, trying to clear my head. Below, the river reflected the city lights in fractured silver streaks.
Footsteps behind me. Heavy. Familiar.
"You shouldn't wander off," Darius said, stepping out beside me. No jacket. Sleeves rolled to his forearms now, tie loosened by one notch. The casual shift made him look more dangerous, not less.
"I needed air." I didn't turn. "Not a chaperone."
He joined me at the railing, close enough that our arms touched. "You're flushed."
"Cold air does that."
"Liar."
I finally looked at him. His eyes were darker out here, pupils blown in the low light. The wind carried his scent straight to me—stronger now, less restrained.
"You're doing it on purpose," I said.
"Doing what?"
"Leaning in. Touching. Letting your scent spike every time someone gets too close to me."
He didn't deny it. Just tilted his head. "Does it bother you?"
"It annoys me."
A low sound—not quite a laugh. "Good."
I pushed off the railing, intending to go back inside. He caught my wrist. Not hard. Just enough to stop me.
"Stay," he said. Not an order. Not quite a request.
I looked down at his hand on my skin, then back up at his face. "Why?"
"Because I want you to."
Simple. Arrogant. Honest.
I could have pulled away. Should have. Instead I stepped closer—deliberately into his space, close enough that I had to tilt my head to meet his eyes.
"Then maybe you should stop acting like you own the room and start acting like you want to share it."
His grip tightened for a heartbeat. Then loosened. His other hand rose, slow, cupping the side of my neck. Thumb brushing the gland again. This time he didn't press. Just rested there. Warm. Steady.
"I don't share," he said quietly.
I smiled—small, sharp, real for the first time tonight. "Then you're going to hate what comes next."
He didn't answer. Just watched me, storm eyes searching, like he was trying to decide whether I was threat or prize.
Behind us, the party carried on—laughter, music, clinking glasses.
Out here, the only sound was the wind and our breathing.
And for the first time since I woke up in this body, I didn't feel like running.
Not yet.